


not at his finest

by carefulren



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (sorta) - Freeform, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jon's attempt at being a bro to Tim, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sickfic, Supplementals, Tumblr Prompt, Whump, after being a very much not bro to him, also on full display, and Elias being is shady af self, jon's single brain cell, set in super early s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25816165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulren/pseuds/carefulren
Summary: the one where Jon starts keeping a paranoid eye on Tim because he thinks Tim's acting odd and suspicious, but Tim's just suffering through a nasty cold.
Kudos: 33





	not at his finest

“Supplemental: Tim’s asked to leave work early. He was... quiet when he asked, almost subdued. It was quite disconcerting. He didn’t make eye contact with me when he asked, and... he didn’t call me ‘boss’ to annoy me as he usually does.”

Jon pauses, tape recorder hovering just before his lips. He’s frowning at the closed door, almost as if he can peel away the wood with his gaze alone and see what he’s promptly missing on the other side.

“He’s hiding something,” he deduces, voice quiet, speculating. “And I’m going to figure out what it is... End supplemental.”

***

“Supplemental: Tim was two hours late this morning. He practically plowed into me in the hall, and he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink. He just apologized to me under his breath and said he would skip lunch and work late to make up for it. His voice was lacking in energy, and his posture seemed rigid and distant, none of the usual too-early smiles and shoulder claps. I think... No, I know that he’s definitely wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday. Same plaid, button down, same navy trousers.”

Pausing, Jon sighs, thoughts reeling with theories he’s trying to work through. He thumbs the stop button, contemplating. “What could have kept him up at night and made him late this morning? What’s got him so on edge? What kept him from going home last night? Perhaps he knows something about Gertrude? He didn’t start acting like this until shortly after coming back from his leave. I’m... going to keep a close eye on him today. End supplemental.”

***

Jon leaves his office often throughout the day, for tea, to visit the library, anything that can have him walking by Tim’s desk. The first time he shuffles by, he spots Tim scribbling notes into a legal pad, eyes flicking back and forth from the screen to the paper. Tim doesn’t acknowledge his presence, which, in itself, is quite suspicious. Normally, Tim teases him with light jabs: “the monster’s emerging,” “I didn’t realize vampires could be out right now,” and, the one Jon hears the most, “Jon... Jonathan Sims? You still work here? Haven’t seen you in ages!”

The second time he walks by, Tim’s dozing, his face propped up against his knuckles. He startles awake when Jon clears his throat and masks a few coughs into his fist, wincing and apologizing.

Jon contemplates questioning him right then and there, too eager to discover just what exactly is going on, but then Elias rounds the corner, and he’s got a familiar look in his eyes, one Jon immediately squares his shoulders at. He’s carted off to a brief meeting with the library staff, annoyed at the interruption.

The third time he walks by on his way back from the meeting, Tim shoots a panicked look toward him when he rounds the corner and immediately shoves something into his desk drawer. There’s an air of tense silence that flutters over the two, and it’s in that moment that Jon decides he’s going to confront him today.

***

Keeping his word, Tim works an hour past quitting time, and Jon knows that Tim didn’t leave the building for lunch as he’s been watching him for the better half of the day. He slips out of his office, prepared to corner Tim at his desk, but he pauses when he spots that the desk is empty. He spares a quick glance around before briskly walking toward the desk and trying the drawers, finding each one locked.

“Damn,” he mutters under his breath. It’s only two minutes past six, so Tim can’t have gotten far. He keeps the brisk walk up when he exits the building, just barely spotting Tim rounding a corner across the street. He only spares a half glance at the road before starting across the street in a light run, waving apologetically at a few honking cars. His lungs are burning slightly when he meets the other side, his stiff body cracking uncomfortably, but he keeps the pace, whipping around the corner.

Tim’s only a few feet ahead of him, and he sucks in a deep breath and shouts his name, slowing to a walk when Tim freezes and spins around with a frown.

“Jon? What’s-” Tim’s unable to finish his sentence, overcome by a coughing fit that Jon doesn’t pay any mind to, the gears in his own mind already whirling far too quickly.ti

“You’re hiding something,” Jon spits out, a dangerous timbre to his voice, and Tim’s face twists from surprise, to confusion, then holding mild annoyance.

“Excuse me?” Tim matches Jon’s tone, and he cocks his head to the side, shivering slightly and pulling his jacket a little tighter around himself.

“You haven’t been yourself,” Jon starts, mentally ticking off each unusual scenario that’s led him to this conclusion. “You’ve been quiet, reserved even. You left early yesterday, and you were two hours late this morning, wearing the same clothes you wore yesterday. So I ask, Tim,” he pauses, voice low and just barely audible over the traffic beside them, “what were you doing at all hours of the night? And, what were you trying to hide from me in your desk drawer?”

Tim reaches into his coat pocket, and Jon’s entire body goes rigid. Is Tim going to pull out a knife and try to kill him? Or, maybe he’ll pull out a gun, the same gun that was used to kill Getrude. Was he right in his theory that Tim knows what happened to Gertrude? That Tim may have been the one who killed Gertrude? Does Tim have a thing for harming archivists? What dark story has Tim so wrapped up-

His thoughts, both current and the ones rushing forward, come to an abrupt halt when Tim presses a small box of paracetamol tablets into his palm. Frowning, Jon brings the box up to his eyes, and despite his best efforts of finding some unearthed, hidden meaning behind it, it is, in fact, just a box of medicine.

“What...?”

“Paracetamol?” Tim starts, raising one brow. “Medicine used to reduce fevers? Sure you’ve heard of it?”

“Yes, I know what it is,” Jon drags out sharply. “I simply don’t...” He stops himself this time, almost unconsciously, because when he looks up from the box to Tim just as a car’s whipping by, he can see through the car’s bright headlights that Tim’s cheeks are a concerning shade of red, and he’s sweating despite the full body chills he’s trying to mask with crossed arms. 

“They’re yours,” he says, almost dumbly, and Tim sighs, wincing when the low breath pulls into a deep cough that hurts his chest.

“Great job,” he grumbles flatly. “I took some earlier and didn’t want you to see and send me home.”

Oddly, Jon’s having trouble processing Tim’s reasoning, his mind still so wound up with heightened theories. “Your clothes...” he mutters, and Tim glances down at himself, a bit self-conscious.

“Yeah, about that... I sort of passed out when I got home yesterday, and I slept straight through until morning. I didn’t intend on doing that, so I didn’t set an alarm, hence my showing up to work late.” He shivers around his words and lifts his fist to his mouth to cover a heavy cough.

“You’re ill,” Jon mutters, almost to himself, his mind slowly down to the mundane reality that Tim’s been acting so “odd,” as he thought, because he hasn’t been feeling all that well. He presses up on his feet and smooths his palm across Tim’s cheek, hissing lightly and jerking his hand back at the alarming heat. “You’re really ill, Tim. You’re burning up.”

“It’s just a nasty cold I can’t quite shake,” Tim mutters, rubbing absently at his chest. “I got the paracetamol this morning while racing to work, so I should be better soon.”

“I thought...”

“That I killed Gertrude?” Tim supplies, finishing Jon’s thought through a series of coughs.

Wincing, Jon drags his eyes to the ground, pretending that the sidewalk is far more interesting to look at for he can’t quite life his head under the muted pressure of guilt pushing down on him.

“I’m... sorry,” he mumbles, clearing his throat, daring to push against the icy pressure of guilt to meet Tim’s eyes. “I’ve been preoccupied with-”

Tim stops Jon with one, shaking hand. “Save it for another time, Jon. It’s freezing, and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be standing upright.”

Jon can see, now, that Tim’s swaying slightly, one hand presses to his forehead. He gnaws at his lip, glancing around, feeling terribly out of his element. “Do you, um, do you need to go to a clinic? Hospital?”

“I don’t,” Tim stops, turning away from Jon to cough harshly into his arm, “think so,” he rasps out, breathing a little too loudly for Jon’s liking.

“Let’s... You should... Let me take you back to the Archives, and I’ll phone a cab.” Jon’s guilt is morphing with a tight knot of concern deep within his stomach. “You shouldn’t be walking like this or taking the tube.”

“Fine,” Tim sighs. “I’ll go to ease your guilty conscious.” He manages a smirk, and Jon shoots a brief, sharp stare before guiding Tim safely back across the street, keeping one hand awkwardly planted to the small of Tim’s back, aware it won’t do much, but hopeful it will bring an ounce of comfort to Tim’s shivering body.

It’s not until they are back inside, with Tim huddled atop a floor vent that’s sputtering out hot air, and Jon’s already phoned with a cab that Tim tries to address Jon’s behavior, something Jon reluctantly expected.

“So you think that we are all suspects?”

“I...” Jon sighs, leaning against the receptionist desk, arms hugging himself defensively. “I don’t know what to think.” The knowledge is still new, still a fresh wound ripping angrily across his thoughts. The mere moment he was informed of Gertrude’s body, he shifted to high alert, suddenly seeing everyone differently, taking account to how his staff walked, how they talked to him, how they even looked when entering and exiting the archives. Yet, there’s a smaller voice, one that he keeps shoving away, that whispers “paranoia.” No matter how hard he tries to ignore it, it comes back, a perk, he thinks, of his mind’s necessity to consider all factors.

“Christ, Jon, I wouldn’t have asked if I had known you would get lost in your own head.”

Jon blinks slowly, the room around him coming back in slow waves. He turns to see Tim with one hand at the door, a cab waiting right outside.

“Sorry,” Jon mutters, clearing his throat. “You can... call... if you need anything.”

“Martin’s already got that covered,” Tim sighs, patting his coat pocket where his phone is resting. “He stole my phone when I dozed off at my desk and created a speed dial with his number.”

“Right,” Jon draws out, feeling suddenly drained, a consequence, he assumes, of spending an entire day lost among theories. “Well, I’ll speak to Elias on your behalf, so take as long as you need to recover.”

“You’ll speak to Elias about what?”

Tim breaks Jon’s gaze, looking past him, and Jon whips around to see Elias approaching the two.

A different feeling hits Jon square in the chest, one he’s familiar with anytime Elias approaches his staff, and unspoken drive to protect. He looks over his shoulder, mouthing for Tim to go.

“Right,” Tim says, almost hesitantly. “Bye then.” He opens the door, stopping when Elias speaks, his legs unable to move.

“Do feel better, Tim. You look quite dreadful.”

Tim doesn’t respond, slipping out the door with a wordless shudder that Jon watches with a frown.

“Glad to see that you’re still here, Jon. I’ve picked out a few statements I’d like you to review.”

“Now?” Jon asks, taking a moment to glance over his shoulder just as the cab pulls away.

“If it isn’t any trouble,” Elias says.

Despite the clear ‘out’ Elias gives him through words alone, Jon knows how to pick out Elias’s true intentions not by his words, but by the finality of his tone. So, he follows because while he sees everyone as a suspect, he’s got a gut feeling, one that’s overwhelming, that Elias is, and should be, suspect number one.

**Author's Note:**

> This was probably one of my favorite prompts I've gotten so far! So fun to write! 
> 
> Feel free to say hi or drop a prompt off on tumblr! (@toosicktoocare)


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